


Real or Not Real

by thewanderess



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Remembering Stuff, Declarations Of Love, Drinking, First Kiss, Fluff, I Mean It's Not Their First Ever But It Is Since The Train, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6289702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewanderess/pseuds/thewanderess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky play a game while they walk home from a night of drinking in the dead of winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real or Not Real

Steve can feel warmth blooming in his chest, and it’s not from the bottle they’ve been passing back and forth. It’s Bucky’s laugh. He could get drunk on that alone, feels wrecked as he watches his full lips wrap around the bottles top, a small drop running down the length of his neck. Steve has to fight the urge to lick it from the warmth of his skin. To taste the fire of whisky and Bucky and longing all together. The bottle is pressed into his hand, startling him and Steve looks up, meeting Bucky’s eyes. He smiles at him, and Steve feels the corners of his own eyes crinkle in response as he smiles wider than he can remember doing for a long time. Sometimes he can’t believe that he’s back, that they’re really here, together.

Bucky smiles wider, eyes sparkling with happiness, and Steve’s eyes are drawn down to those pink, pillowy lips and fuck he wants to kiss them, hasn’t kissed them since the second fucking World War, but before he can move, Bucky looks up at him, stumbling a little from the booze as he walks on. He crunches through the snow, shouting back over his shoulder, “So wait, did we steal all of Dugan’s underwear and freeze them while he was sleeping?”

Steve laughs in delight at the memory, skipping a little through the snow, taking another drink. “Real, that was real,” he snickers, color high in his cheeks, blood singing through his veins. 

Bucky wheezes a little, clutching his gut; Steve admires the way his hand gleams in the moonlight. Next thing he knows, Bucky is grabbing his own gloved hand and dragging him through the deeper snow.

“What are we doing?” Steve asks, amused, holding tightly to his hand.

Bucky raises and eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning up and says, “You’ll see, come on!”

They stop at the edge of the river. It’s frozen over and Steve stops, but Bucky just leaps on the ice and spins around, catching his balance before he slips.

“‘C’mon, Steve!” Bucky says with a laugh, and even though Steve’s scared the ice could give way, could swallow him like before, he takes one look at those big blue eyes and does what he always does. He follows him like he’s afraid he’ll vanish again if he doesn’t. Steve slides over on unsteady feet, arms open, and Bucky takes advantage, sliding right in, fitting his head in the crook of the larger man’s neck, arms wrapping around his waist. Steve’s heart beats double time in his chest, the scent of tobacco and whiskey and Bucky filling his nose. 

“Did we ever dance at the clubs?” Bucky asks quietly.

Steve thinks for a moment, looking down at the shorter man from under long lashes. “No. Not real,” he says as he pulls him close, soft against the planes of his body reveling in his warmth. “Never got the chance.”

Steve can feel him sag a little in his arms in disappointment, so he quickly adds, “But we can fix that.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Bucky starts to hum a tune under his breath in his sweet voice. Steve closes his eyes in bliss, rests his cheek on top of his head and rocks them gently back and forth in time with the beats of their hearts and the song Bucky is singing. They meld together perfectly, just like they always have, a tangle of warmth and feeling. He’s never felt more at peace that he does right now with liquor running heady through his veins and Bucky in his arms. 

Suddenly his feet slip out from under him and he’s falling, taking Bucky down with him. It doesn’t hurt. Bucky lands on top of Steve with a little oof noise and a laugh and Steve laughs with him again, one big hand going up to brush the long hair out of Bucky’s face. He’s beautiful like this, his hair shining like a halo, blue eyes hooded, framed by moonlight.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah. Never better,” whispers Bucky, his voice breaking.

Their faces are only inches apart and Steve’s hand lingers, cupping his stubbly jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone tenderly. Bucky stares for a moment, taking a deep breath as if to steel himself and then sighs in the space between them, “You love me. Real or not real?”

Steve’s heart stops and then beats so fast he feels like it will burst from his chest. He lets out a soft sigh, trembling in the other man’s arms, their lips a hairsbreadth apart. Bucky’s eyes flutter closed and Steve surges forward, tangling his fingers in his silky brown locks and closes the distance between them.

Their lips touch, sliding against each other and Steve can feel his breath hitch in his chest. Bucky’s lips are soft and warm against his and he runs his tongue along his bottom lip, tasting the whiskey on his lips, relishing the little moan he makes as he opens under Steve’s mouth. There’s no finesse, no skill, just a clash of tongues and teeth, hands roaming. It’s just the two of them alone under the stars with sparks in their blood and fireworks in their hearts, bodies slotted together like puzzle pieces. For the first time since the train, everything feels like it’s exactly as it’s supposed to be. 

When it’s over, they rest their foreheads together, noses touching, and sharing breaths. Bucky looks wrecked, lips kiss swollen and pink, dark hair mussed and wild as he looks down at Steve. His eyes, big and blue, ringed with smoky lashes are filled with love and hope. They share more kisses, more touches, sharing the white vapor of their breaths in the cold in the small space between their lips when they break for air. Steve pulls back, tracing the planes of Bucky’s face, and whispers the only thing in his life that has ever made sense. 

“Real.”

**Author's Note:**

> I got the whole, "Real or not real," thing from The Hunger Games because I loved the parallel there. Thanks for reading!


End file.
